Plants and Pots: Joy at the Nursery

Happy happy nursery day.
 Even the moss is happily blooming from the edge of this wooden shelf.

Grace Lee has previously shown me the wonders of a Korean nursery, but today's was the best EVER. 

Let's back up a bit.  If you wanted to buy cut flowers in our Korean city, I don't know where you'd go. We've looked and looked - there just aren't flower shops like what you'd find in the US, or bunches of flowers in the supermarket, etc. (On graduation day, hordes of vendors show up on campus to hawk gaudy bouquets, but I haven't found where those folks hide the rest of the year). Rather than flowers, Koreans buy and give plants. Nearly every apartment has a balcony (where one's washing machine and drying racks live) that is stuffed with beautifully potted plants. The pot and decorative toppings are as important as the plant itself, and this is an area where Western influences combined with Korean adoration of all things cute has had terrible tacky regrettable consequences (see here for photos of foam-formed animal inserts, grammatically-awkward sayings, and aggressively glossy plants that seem less like a gift than a bad joke).

Where were we?  Ah - in addition to potted plants, many nurseries make big money catering to funeral and grand open markets.  Which, upon re-reading, I see with my American eyes to be a rather strange and perhaps disturbing concept. So, to get even further off track, Koreans love big old floral displays (about 2m tall) for funerals, consisting mostly of white mums and plastic fan-like ferns and giant ribbons with a Korean or Chinese saying perhaps along the lines of "we're sorry your're dead." Koreans also use strikingly similar displays for new businesses (just substitute gerbera daisies and lilies for the mums, plus a presumably more cheerful banner).  Put those and a giant GRAND OPEN (not "grand opening") banner on the front of the store and you're in business.

A mighty Grand Open fleet of floral displays.

I have clearly digressed and can't remember where I'm going with this.  At all.  

Oh, yes. To buy flowers or flowering plants, one must locate a nursery (to buy plants for your vegetable garden, head for your local city sidewalk for excellent deals on tomato, squash, and pepper seedlings). Once one finally figures out what a Korean nursery looks like (think: run-down greenhouse-turned-storefront with a pots and plants haphazardly stacked out front and a 꽃 sign to signify flower or bloom), one begins to notice them everywhere.  

ANYWAY. Grace took me to a new place today (introduced to her by our neighbor, the amazing landscape designer Mihae).  And it was heaven. Not a tacky animal, made-in-China pot, or gaudy ribbon anywhere.  Instead, we found hundreds of hand-thrown Korean pots with well-loved native plants and wildflowers casually  rustically artistically arranged floor-to-ceiling (I can't even convey with pictures the sense of "lovingly piled like a hippie hoarder"). Moss grew thickly on wooden surfaces and pretty much everywhere else; random plants grew from the ground where seeds and cuttings had dropped.  The whole place would fit in a racquetball court, but we spent a happy hour just wandering and exclaiming and discovering.

Grace admires a "Korean bellflower." Its root (doraji or도라지) is a crunchy veggie here, but I think it's unethical to kill this lovely plant (platycodon).  Perhaps I shall start a movement called Stop the Chomp or something.
Might need to work on a better name.

The only clear area in the shop.
Note that the cash register was stored
UNDER the near end of the counter.

Even a hole in a rock gets a tiny plant.

Rustic hangers and stacks of pots  put plants at every level.

Now for the really cool thing about Korean nurseries.  You can bring your own flowerpot, pick out a plant, and they'll pot it for you - even if the plant you like is already in a nice pot and priced to go (you can also bring your own plant, buy a pot from them, and they'll pot it for you).  Happily, today's nursery owner had a particular talent for beautiful potting arrangements, was quite outgoing, and rather enjoyed teaching the professors about her style of potting plants (Grace was a great translator).

  

Pots, plants, and soil-less soil: just tiny rocks (마사?) mixed with small clay pellets for water retention.
This mixture makes transplanting much easier than soil but requires more regular watering. 

Place the plant off-center.  Use a butter-knife-ish-gadget to poke down the 마사, then jam in a rock
for decoration and to keep the plant in place.  These lava rocks are from Jeju-do, a beloved vacation island sometimes called the Hawaii of Korea, so these would be particularly nice for a gift to a Korean.

Commentary on the roots.  

I think she ripped this moss off the floor behind her.  
Tear moss into bits and press firmly around the plant.
Then add small red decorative rocks.  Water thoroughly.

She followed the same process for our other plants:: off-center placement, 마사 stuff,
lava rock, red decorative stone toppings, moss shreds, water.  

Finally, she packed the plants up, showed us our totals on the ever-present Korean calculator (my jasmine and mystery-variegated plant came to 30,000, or about $28), and brought them out to the car for us. 

I shall certainly return, with friends and money.  I love her so much - and I don't even know her name.  :)

My jasmine plant.

Grace's lovely "Miss Kim" miniature lilac.

Grace's tiny trees in a windowsill pot.

Customer Service: A Humility Lesson

I love my Canon camera but it's not been working well recently and only getting worse.  After querying the local expats groups on Facebook, I found the approximate location of a camera repair shop.  I assume such places have actual names and addresses, but it's just easier for foreigners to discuss locations-by-landmark.  To wit:

Yes, this is how well-educated people in a foreign country communicate.
Even sharing random baby news on a buy/sell posting about cameras.  :)

So, my beloved TA and I (I'm teaching two classes at the university now - I love it, but it leaves far less time for blogging, as dear readers may have noticed) went to get my laptop and camera repaired in town today. The laptop repair place (local translation: the HP A/S near Shiway's Home Plus) gave your average Korean service (read: rude but competent).  In short, the repair guy lived in a back room that was stuffed floor-to-ceiling with boxes and cigarette smoke and, oddly, a baby car seat; we stood at the doorway (we weren't invited in and there really wasn't room anyway) while he fiddled with my laptop (don't impose any concept of organization or "dust-free zone" on your mental picture here), ignored most of my/Hee Eun's running commentary about what I/we thought was wrong, etc.  He diagnosed a cord problem, blamed me for it (WHY WOULD YOU BLAME THE CUSTOMER TO HER FACE?), and ordered a new cord for me, due in 4 days. Fine.

We next found the camera shop (ok, Hee Eun found the shop - I, of course, automatically scanned for English signs and totally missed the obvious clue of, say, pictures of cameras on the shop's sign, let alone the giant Korean word for camera (pronounced kah-may-rah) above the shop.).

See it?  It's the white-signed store on the right (for local folks, Home Plus is 1/2 block behind us and
the 5-way intersection is in front of us).

We entered the tiny space, Hee Eun explained my camera's problem (the autofocus has gone from touchy to downright mean), and Camera Guy (whom I initially mistook for an adorable middle-aged ajoshi with bright eyes and rather gel-laden, spiky dyed black hair) interrupted to ask about my camera strap. Well, ok, it's not Regulation Canon Camera Strap, but a soft purple scarf, which is (a) more comfy on my neck, (b) far more pretty and (c) my tiny way of sticking it to the corporate man. He wanted to remove it and sell me a Canon strap; I refused, smiling and trying to pull off the persona of "slightly embarrassed and kind of dumb foreigner."  This might have been a tactical error.

His smiley criticisms continued, flowing right along in Korean.  However, between my status as Very-Observant-Shy-Person-Turned-Social-Psychologist and my actual-though-limited knowledge of Korean and, of course, Hee Eun's tactful translations, I got the message.  To wit:

(1) My camera was dirty - nay, filthy. He insisted we accept beverages (I refused coffee but he gave me a can of Sparkle! McCool! which tastes like carbonated barley vomit - though I may overstate, as Hee Eun rather enjoyed hers) while he cleaned my camera (free! service!).  While smilingly chatting with Hee Eun and joking about how poorly I have cared for my camera, he cleaned it with these highly specialized professional tools: (a) his breath, (b) rubbing alcohol, (c) bits of cotton fluff ripped from a roll, and (wait for it!) (d) a well-used, oily toothbrush (he promised he hadn't used it in his mouth). After each cotton swab, he said "Ha!" and showed us the filth, leaving them in a pile on the counter.

If you can read Korean, you know this
store is called "Sharon Camera."
 Which, of course, is so, SO close to my own name
that I think God laughed pretty darn hard at
today's encounter.

(2) His next smiling stabbing topic was my size.  He freely commented about my weight (Americans eat so much meat!). Hee Eun graciously (and angrily) refused to translate, but I got the gist. Have I mentioned how much I adore my TA?  I must remember to fail her this semester so she can't graduate and I can keep her forever.

In the end, I bought a new lens (it's a more updated version than mine - although he couldn't quite specify HOW it was better - but after his kind discount it was the same price as repairing mine) and I got a filter for it (Ray - thank you for your many gentle nudges) but I refused the hood he also wanted me to buy (to reduce sun spots). I tested my new lens and filter on my shiny clean camera and took 3 pictures. Of him, of course, because I was still trying hard to think of him as a nice guy with a little prejudice against foreigners.  And, of course, I was secretly planning to write this up for my blog.

Now to pay.  Oh - total cost in cash was 100,000 won (about $93) but debit card cost was $150,000 won (surely I heard that wrong?).  Off we went to my bank to get cash, just around the corner. My camera remained behind with him as a requested security (or as a hostage, depending on your current level of cynicism).  As we walked out, he took a phone call and I quickly swept the dirty swabs into my purse. Thus I removed his props for any evening stories about the filthy foreigner and her silly strap/scarf.

We returned and paid; he pressed me to take my remaining fizzy barley beverage which I had strategically "forgotten" on the counter.  Arg. After we left I poured out the beverage on a nearby tree, not wanting to seem rude by leaving it there.

Upon arriving home, I went to transfer today's pictures from my camera to my laptop.  And, inexplicably, saw that some were missing.  Three, to be exact.  Of  him, standing behind the small pile of swabs.

So.  "Customer service" apparently includes removing photos from customers' cameras. Hmmph. That's it.  Game on, Camera Guy.  Game on.

Stripper Shoes (or, I Told You So)

This is not really my story, but I'm part of it and it makes me laugh so much that I must share it which keeping identities confidential.

A lovely international woman I've met here in Korea, whom we shall call X, is someone who I see as a good friend but I fear she maybe views me more as an aunt or a mom due to our age difference (wow, it's about 20 years, now that I do the math).   Anyway, we enjoy each other's company and like having coffee and watching movies together, etc.  One night she brought over some clothes that she thought Elisabeth might like to have. Indeed: the shirt and sweater were a hit. but I put a stop to the dress shoes. Elisabeth is only 12 and has no occasion to wear 4" stiletto heels, no matter how much she begged about the unlikelihood of finding such nice shoes in her size (they both wear 9.5) and no matter how much X joined the argument to let my poor daughter have these nice shoes.  No, no, nope. And then, in a verbal show of stamping my foot, I might have been a wee bit too blunt when I said to X, "Elisabeth really doesn't need stripper shoes."  I probably hurt X's feelings, but she recovered quickly and mentally justified my response: "Oh, Sherri is kind of old and doesn't really know what "stripper" shoes are!  I wore these nice neutral shoes to a Christian wedding!  Silly middle-aged mother."

The Shoes.

A few days later, X advertised her shoes on our city's Facebook Bazaar page, where we buy and sell all kinds of stuff from left-over taco seasoning to rice cookers to mobile phones.  X soon got an interested buyer, and they agreed to meet for the sale.

When two men walked into the meeting place, looking intently at X, she assumed they were her buyers but must have come to get the shoes for a girlfriend.  Jokingly, X asked "Why don't you try them on to see if they fit?" And to her great surprise, one of the men quickly agreed - and declared them to be a perfect fit.  And then mentioned that the shoes would be a wonderful addition to his upcoming drag queen show.

Wow.  So, ok, admittedly I was wrong: they indeed weren't "stripper" shoes.  But, oh, the end of the story does mean I won back some points with X.  Maybe I'm not that old or ignorant after all.   :)

Going Dental: Wisdom Tooth Extractions

I have long believed that February is the longest month of the year, dragging out for eons of nostril-freezing weariness. Of course, before moving to Korea I'd only lived in the mid-west (Michigan, Chicago, Iowa), which stubbornly resides in an ice age for half the year. Now, however, I live in a land where winter is just a season - not a malicious force that warrants hand-wringing headlines.

February flew by this year though, because (a) we got no snow this month; (b) Sam (now aged 19) and Nick's parents (now aged "senior discount") came to visit us; and (c) I started teaching at Handong on March 2 and have needed to nap away the panic attacks prep for my two classes.

We had lots of little adventures this month, including an overnight trip to Busan (I'm no longer an airbnb.com virgin!), visiting Bird Park in Gyeongjju (we were covered in pretty birds! which covertly ate our jackets' zipper teeth!), and tried out lots of restaurants (Vietnamese! Japanese! Korean! Indian!).  Sam also got 3 of his wisdom teeth removed, and it is that adventure on which we'll focus here.

Today's question for you, dear reader: Is it cheaper to get one's wisdom teeth taken out in Korea (including the round-trip plane ticket) or in the US?

Sam at the MIR Dental Clinic with pictures of the two award-winning oral surgeons
(they invented a screw-like device to replace missing teeth)

Sign outside Shinsegae Dental Clinic (near Yeongildae Beach):
one nurse and one dentist spoke perfect American English.
Heaven!!!

Maybe we cheated a little by going to two dentists: MIR Dental insisted on a one-week interval after pulling 2 of Sam's teeth on his right side, and that conflicted with his flight back home. So, we went to another dentist with different orthodontial ethics to pull just one tooth on the left side (his 4th wisdom tooth didn't need pulling after all).  I shall not bore you with long descriptions of every visit (many Korean doctors do love follow-up appointments), but here is the price breakdown in US dollars (google was very helpful in researching costs).

Day	Location	Tasks
Tuesday	MIR	2 panoramic x-rays	$30
Monday	MIR	3 shots, 2 teeth extracted, stitches Drugs ($7 antibiotics, painkiller, anti-nausea) Student translator ($20)	$58
Tuesday	MIR	check sockets	$7
Thursday	Shinsaege Dental Clinic	1 panoramic xray, 1pain-free shot, 1 extraction, drugs (antibiotics, painkiller, anti-nausea)	$13
Saturday	MIR	remove stitches	$4
		Subtotal for 3 Korean extractions:	$112
		Round-trip flight from US to Korea	$1200
		KOREAN TOTAL (with flight)	$1312
US costs:		$200-400 per tooth PLUS sedation ($50-400) PLUS xrays ($60-150 each) PLUS drugs ($35 for generic, 1 week)	$750-1785

$112 in Korea vs. about $1200.  Um, yeah, there's an obvious savings there.

But, ok, aren't there risks?  Well, yeah, but that's what I like to call "adventure." You won't get any informed consent or liability forms or insurance forms or much of any information at all about what's going on (maybe Korean-speaking patients get all this, but we did not).  You're not guaranteed that the good doctor has washed his hands or will wear gloves during surgery.  And Korean dentists don't do the whole "laughing gas" sedation route - a shot is enough.  So, depending on your health hysteria level, you might prefer your local American dentist so matter what the expense.

In the end, the financial savings were significant and we don't get into germ frenzies, so Sam went ahead with great success.  The very best part, of course, was the communication barrier.  A Korean nurse, trying hard to use her limited English, told Sam just before the surgery to "close your face."   He decided to close his eyes but keep his mouth open, and that was apparently the point.  You just can't buy cross-cultural humor. :)

Oops: When Red Lights Are Not Suggestions

We live on a small university campus on top of a mountain about 2 km from the East Sea (which less-enlightened people might believe is named the Sea of Japan).  Our apartment building is at the tippy-top of the campus and from our 5th-floor apartment we can see the ocean, the neighboring town/suburb on the north side of Pohang (city of about 1/2 million folks), and even the smokestacks from the downtown steel works (eight km south).  It's not a long distance into town, but it takes some skilled driving: across 10 campus speed bumps (oh, how I wish I was exaggerating), down the pine forested mountain, along a twisty two-lane road amid rice fields, and through an industrial park (where a mountain once resided but was dumped into the ocean to make the port).  Then we get to a village (my favorite for beach-walking) and then to the town/suburb of high-rise apartments, restaurants, dozens of coffee shops, and a ba-jillion smart phone shops.

Upon moving here, we noted that on the highway and in the city proper, posted traffic signs and signals were mostly obeyed by private cars (scooters obey no law; buses and taxis have their own law).  But now, as highly-skilled Korean drivers, we know which traffic lights are jokes, which are reasonable suggestions, and which should actually be obeyed.

Until the rules changed today.  After slowing slightly to ensure that no cross traffic was at the familiar 3-way village intersection, I blew through a red light as usual (going only 60kph, compared to at least 80kph by taxis and giant trucks heading to the port). Just after I did so, a police officer (a far, FAR rarer species on Korean roads than American ones) stepped into the road ahead of me and pointed to the side.  Uh oh. I stopped, he spoke in rapid Korean, and I just smiled brightly.  He got a wee bit more aggravated as he gestured in a square-ish fashion. I am not sure why I enjoy playing Dumb American as much as I do, so with a small bit of regret I give him some slack. "License?" I asked, and he nodded.  Whereupon he walked back to his car and chatted with a  young police woman; she stood behind my car and ran my license through what appeared to be an app on her phone then approached my window.

She was adorable.  I could not stop smiling or giggling and would have happily accepted a ticket from her.  Her English was poor (far better than my own Korean, though), but she got the point across as she smiled and stammered.  "Cross-street walk?  Old people?  Red light? You go SHWOOOM!"  I played dumb for a little longer because, well, because I'm evil and wanted to hear her say it all again. So she did and I repeated what she'd said and she brightened even further at our successful communication.  Then she inexplicably stuck her loose fist through my window.  "Yak-soak!" (약속) she repeated, shaking her extended pinky towards me.  I, just having brought David to the doctor (he broke his arm again this week), thought she was saying "pharmacy" (약국) and was very confused (I passed a drugstore? I was on drugs?  what??) until she wiggled her pinky again and said "plo-miss."

Aha!  I pinky-promised a Korean police officer not to run red lights anymore.  Oh my goodness, this is a fantastic place to live.  :)

Food and the Streets of Taiwan

The Taiwanese people - at least those on the streets of Taipai - were remarkably friendly, helpful and far more willing to speak English than folks in Korea.  For example: on our first day, while trying to find a subway station, Nick asked a young woman for directions.  She responded clearly: "Straight here. Then walka-walka-walka to the big temple. Then walka-walka into the MRT station."  We were so delighted.  You just can't make this stuff up.

Along Incheon airport's early-morning moving sidewalk, we considered Weeny Beanies,
Snoopy Café, and Hello Kitty Café as breakfast options.  
And then we saw Subway.  How could we pass up the smell of home?

Taiwanese street food: Nick noticed a line of locals and decided these breaded meat patties must be great.  
And they sure were.

A restaurant ad in our hotel elevator kind of freaked us out.

The sumptuous breakfast buffet at the Park City Hotel included clear labels in two languages.
I smiled every morning at this one,which is really so much more useful than using the French "crouton."

Convenience store food included some interesting surprises.

We enjoyed more street food and McDonalds
(remember: the Taiwan dollar is equivalent to $0.03 USD)

With all our walka-walking about, we noticed a LOT of scooters driving around. As a social scientist, I starting taking random samples and calculating the ratios of transportation types: scooters, private cars, and taxis/buses.  Scooters (at least in Taipei) made up roughly 50% of the traffic, followed by private cars (about 25%), taxis/buses (about 20%), and a miscellaneous category (e.g, delivery trucks, bicycles).

Scooters are serious transportation - folks carry not only themselves and often another person on their scooter: we saw bags of groceries, 24-packs of toilet paper, huge packages, diapers, little kids, and even some dogs.  Helmets are required by law (only a white guy and the little kids/dogs didn't wear one); scooters are given plenty of room to park on the sidewalks and in the rare parking lots, and we even saw several scooter repair shops.  What a great way to get around in a city that never sees snow.

Golden Retriever on a scooter; an adorable happy kid; a scooter seat repair shop.

One of my favorite street scenes - a very fancy private car alongside a man collecting boxes to make some extra money.
All under the watchful eye of Mary.

Learning Australian the Tracey Way

Befriending Tracey since moving here 20 months ago has entailed learning at least as much about Australia as about Korea. Just in time for her birthday, I shall here share my second-hand insights about her continent so filled with cozies (koalas! kangas!) and crazies (pretty much everything else). (Except Tracey, of course.)

Tracey and I having coffee at Firenze Restaurant (Jukcheon-ri, Pohang),
which heavily advertised steak and pasta,
except it has no steak on the menu.

Alex the Aussie.

Faithful readers may recall Tracey from wrangling horse poop, admiring a market man's silkworms, or tapping a poisonous centipede to death. Here are three salient background facts. Long ago, Tracey and husband Alex adopted three babies from Korea (now 15-22 years old). Second, Tracey's mom keeps alpacas and greyhounds. Third, Alex was a leading expert in the Australian avocado industry and then a wine grape expert until they moved to Korea 11 years ago (Tracey and Alex, that is, not the avocados or grapes). With that as backstory, how could I resist friendship?

Composting; brandishing eggplants; and precisely measuring the garden's pergola.  She can do anything.

My earliest clear memory of Tracey was a few days after we'd moved from the US into our sweltering campus studio apartment.  She came for a visit, perching at the end of my bed.  In distress over packing all the wrong clothes for the weather and culture, I asked her where I might be able to buy something more suitable in my size.  She looked me up and down in that direct Aussie way of hers and gently said, "Well, I buy mine in the market, but you're a bit more buxom than I am."  Um.  Yes.

Tracey bakes drool-inducing lamingtons (white cake squares coated in chocolate and shredded coconut);
bargains in the fabric market; makes stunning quilts, and educates hopeful missionaries. 

During our various gardening adventures and two semesters of Korean class (more on that here), I have come to appreciate that Australia is rather different than America (despite similarities in our histories as British colonies). Tracey, representing Australia, has a surprising range of unique vocabulary, pronunciation, and idioms.  I've learned that one's fringe can get a trim (that would be bangs).  What I would call a kitchen counter, she calls a "bench." At the store, grocery carts become "trolleys." A soccer field is a "pitch." Sometimes I'm pretty sure she's making stuff up.  After some satisfactory work making our compost bin, I heartily exclaimed "Well, Bob's your uncle!"  Without missing a beat, Tracey responded "And Mary's your aunt!" (I later researched this phrase and found... nothing. Google was uncharacteristically quiet about Mary).

The woman loves her eggplants.
I'd rather photograph than eat them. 

My current favorite word is "daggy," which apparently comes from the word "dag" which refers to a certain unsavory morsel hanging from the backside of a sheep.  Thus, something that's "daggy" is dirty.  "Oh!  So "daggy" is like the American "shit," right?"  Her shocked face and glance at her daughter told me all I needed to know. Ohhhh.  Ok.  It's more like "crappy" or "grungy" then.  Got it.

This cute succulent is called "pig face"
by Australian gardeners.
How can you not love that?

We share a deep love of gardening, though I prefer perennial flowers and herbs over her beloved vegetables and annuals.  We also enjoy being observant community gardeners, gossiping over whose tomatoes need supporting and who originally planted the now-runaway coreopsis. As we murmur along the paths, pointing out various gardening approaches, sometimes our names for plants are not the same and hers usually make me laugh aloud with surprise: to Australian gardeners, bell peppers are called "capsicum" (she has a certain disdainful look on her face when I call them bell peppers, which makes me persist all the more); columbines are "granny's bloomers."  Given her "Mary" quip, I am never quite sure whether to believe her, so I often sneak home and check with google to be sure.

A plate of elaborate cupcakes
from the Banks family
became our dinner on moving day.

Tracey always serves cake with spoons.  Every time.  I don't understand that at all. At first I just assumed she was out of clean forks, but this behavior persisted over time. Online research shows that this is a real thing - with surveys and Yahoo boards dedicated to discussing the propriety of forks (meant for crunchy things only!) vs. spoons (meant for soft desserts!) in eating cake. I had no idea.  Such an education I am getting.

I have also learned that during the Australian school day, children have "little lunch" and "big lunch"  What?  What are you talking about? "Little lunch" is morning tea - a brief snack time.  "Big lunch" is the mid-day meal, and some schools also have afternoon tea. How did the US miss out on this wonderful invention?

We discovered in Korean class that Tracey's accent helped her pronounce some sounds far better than I could (and I was usually grateful for her willingness to correct help me). I do love her accent and find myself unconsciously picking it up whenever we're together. Even so, I am continually startled when she spells "h" words aloud, thinking she's hissing at me. It comes out as "HAITCH" rather than "aitch"  and every time I need to rapidly process the "hissing! is she angry? - no, it's just her accent - ah, ok" routine.  Every time.  She has no idea.

A Russian, an Indonesian, and Tracey the Australian in Korean class.

Last week we hung out at her house for Australia Day.  In case you didn't know already, this date marks the January 1788 arrival of the first British admiralty fleet in order to establish a new penal colony in Australia; one of the Brits' previous penal colonies (Georgia) got lost during the American War for Independence (what we call the Revolutionary War) so they were looking for another one (another colony, that is, not another war).  Apparently this holiday is celebrated with great frolic and merriment back at home.  We in Korea celebrated with lamingtons (see photo above) and a game of Squatter while Alex shouted at the televised Asian Cup game. And in case you didn't know this, Squatter is similar to Monopoly, but instead of a cut-throat game of capitalistic greed, this game highlights the conflict of sheep vs. nature: droughts, fires, liver flukes, and a scary disease called "pulpy kidney" (Of course I looked it up later - its a real thing). And, instead of passing Go and collecting $200 for a payday, one collects "wool proceeds" based on the number of one's accumulated sheep.  And one can buy "stud rams" to hire out to other players for the contentment improvement of their herds. And like Monopoly's "Chance" cards, Squatter's "Tucker Bag" cards may unleash disaster (pastures overrun with rabbits!) or good fortune (my Stud Ram won a prize).

I hate Monopoly.  But Squatter was a lovely alternative, particularly because no dags were involved.  

So if all Austalians are like Tracey, I really really want to visit.  As soon as I figure out how to survive all the critters that want to kill me.  (Happy birthday!)